


Back to the Blight

by keita52



Series: Story Limbo [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Gen, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keita52/pseuds/keita52
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zarvora Adaar and Dorian try to get back to the present after Alexius' time magic sends them into the future. They wind up in the past instead - specifically, when Shimari Amell, her fellow Warden Alistair, Leliana and Sten are trying to save Redcliffe Castle from demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the Dragon Age Kink Meme. 
> 
> \---  
> Prompt: So, that mage quest sent them 1 year in the future, right?
> 
> Let's imagine it did the opposite, and sent them 10 years in the past--right when the future Warden Commander of Ferelden was attempting to save Redcliffe Castle from demons, and comes across Quizzy + Dorian instead.
> 
> Ships, no ships, friendships, Inquisitor whoever, anything goes. I just want glorious time-traveling goodness from the Inquisitor and the Warden.
> 
> bonus points:
> 
> \- The inquisitor and Dorian join the Warden's team, at least temporarily  
> \- the inquisitor FREAKING OUT because omg that is the ~Hero of Ferelden~ and omg that's King Alistair and also THE ARISHOK  
> \- the inquisitor and Dorian trying to play it cool but are actually totally not cool, not at all, and the Warden is suspicious (maybe thinks blood magic?)  
> \- the inquisitor petting Leliana's hair and just being in awe of how awesome and sweet young!Leliana is  
> \- one of them (either the inquisitor or Dorian) being REALLY BAD about not telling them anything about the future and the other one is constantly like "omg why don't you just ANNOUNCE that we're time travelers ANDRASTE'S TITS"  
> \- romances?? idk. Or matchmaking. Maybe the inquisitor sees that f!not Cousland is torn between Alistair and Leliana and pushes her towards Leliana, knowing that in the actual future, she chooses Alistair and gets her heart broken. Or maybe f!Adaar crushes hard on Sten? Or DORIAN AND ZEVRAN OMG.
> 
> extra bonus points:  
> \- They went to the dark future first--they ended up in the warden's time while attempting to get back to their *actual* time.

Zarvora Adaar’s last sight of the dark future they had been sent to was of Leliana standing there holding off the Venatori and demons. Her friend and spymaster, looking three times her age, with an iron expression on her face as she made pincushions out of their enemies. Of the many things that had disturbed Zarvora on this little ‘trip’, what had been done to Leliana was far and away the worst one. 

Her first sight of what should have been her own time was of Leliana, looking impossibly young and relaxed, putting arrows into a group of Shades with the same brutal efficiency she had displayed before. Leliana was wearing the same tight leathers that Zarvora herself usually favored, with two daggers strapped to her back. Her attention was too focused on the Shades to have noticed Zarvora, thankfully, and the Vashoth rogue turned to look at Dorian. He looked as stunned as she felt, checking their surroundings and shaking his head.

“Blast, we went too far,” Dorian said in an undertone.

“How far?” Zarvora asked in the same undertone.

A stomp and clatter drew both of their attentions back to where Leliana was standing. She smiled radiantly at the three other people who came to stand besides her. One was clad in templar regalia, blond haired and broad-shouldered. He had a shield strapped to his back and a sword in a well-worn scabbard at his side. The other warrior was, to Zarvora’s shock, a Qunari with no horns. His skin was a darker leathery gray than her own, and his white hair was bound tightly against his scalp. She barely had time to contemplate who and what he was before the third person came into view- a human woman, dark-skinned and dark haired, wearing mage robes and carrying a rather unpolished staff. 

“Ten years, I’d say,” Dorian replied. “In the middle of the Fifth Blight.”

_That’s impossible._ The words never made it to Zarvora’s mouth, as the quartet had finally noticed that they weren’t alone. It was rather disconcerting to see Leliana’s bow pointed at her - although the expression on the Orlesian’s face was finally one that was familiar to Zarvora. 

“What are you doing here?” the mage at the front of the group asked. “How did you get past the demons?”

“Perhaps this is the mage who struck down Arl Eamon,” the templar growled. “That Jowan did say that another mage was involved.”

“I can assure you, we’ve just arrived,” Dorian said. Zarvora shot him an annoyed glance. She knew the mage had a glib tongue, but what kind of story could they come up with that wouldn’t get them killed on the spot?

“Which makes the question ‘how did you get past the demons’ all the more relevant,” the mage said. 

“What my friend meant to say was that we’ve just escaped from captivity,” Zarvora said. “The mage wanted to turn my friend into an abomination. I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

“You are Tal-Vashoth,” the hornless qunari said. His voice was a low growl and seemed to vibrate down through Zarvora’s bones. 

“I am Vashoth,” Zarvora said, a bit more defensively than she’d intended. “I have never followed the Qun.”

“A Vashoth protecting a mage from Tevinter,” Leliana said. Zarvora controlled her impulse to jump upon hearing the familiar voice. “What an unusual combination.”

The other three looked at Dorian again, as though seeing him for the first time. Zarvora let her hands fall down to her daggers again.

“My homeland and I are not on the best of terms at the moment,” Dorian said airily. “As you might have guessed from the fact that I’m, well … _here._ ”

“Of all the things…” the mage said, shaking her head. 

“Let’s put it this way. We’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.” _Definitely the wrong time,_ Zarvora thought wryly before continuing. “We don’t intend you any harm, and we’d be happy to help you kill demons. Is that good enough to get us moving forward, for now?”

The qunari and the templar looked to the mage for her judgment. After a moment’s pause, she nodded. “It is. For now. I’m Shimari. This is Alistair, Sten, and Leliana.”

Zarvora nodded. “I’m Zarvora. This is Dorian.” A moment later she cursed herself for not giving a fake name, but it was too late - and would she have remembered to answer to it? Would Dorian?

“Let’s go, then,” Shimari said. The four of them started forward in a battle formation. Zarvora’s movement forward was halted when Dorian grabbed her sleeve.

“Just because it doesn’t seem to have sunk in yet,” Dorian said quietly, “that’s a Leliana who’s never met us traveling with the Hero of Ferelden, the King of Ferelden, and the Arishok.”

Zarvora stared at him before swearing, softly and profoundly.

“That’s about the right reaction,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “I wish I knew what had gone wrong with the spell. _More_ wrong is probably the better way to put it. Damn it, Alexius.”

“We don’t have any time to figure it out now,” Zarvora said. “And we’d better keep moving if we don’t want to look suspicious. Again.”

“Right. Yes. Let’s go kill some demons.”

* * *

By the time they were done with the demon possessing young Connor Guerrin, Isolde was dead and Jowan was keeping his mouth shut on everything that wasn’t essential to save his own life - and so, there wasn’t really anyone to contradict the harebrained story that Zarvora had desperately thrown out to keep Shimari from killing them on the spot.

(She would have done it, too. For all that she appeared compassionate towards her friends, in battle she was as ruthless and determined as any mercenary Zarvora had ever encountered.)

A grateful Bann Teagan had pressed rooms at Redcliffe Castle upon Shimari’s entire party, including one for Zarvora and Dorian. Shimari had indicated that she would like to speak with them at some point in the near future, but that everyone deserved a rest at the moment. Zarvora hadn’t protested.

“Can we get back?” she asked Dorian as soon as the door to their room closed. “Maker, we’re in _the past_. This isn’t like that awful future where if we just get back to the right time, we won’t have to worry about screwing anything up. We were supposed to _fix_ things, not make them worse!”

“You don’t think I know that?” Dorian snapped, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have … you are absolutely right that we could make things worse. Unfortunately, I can’t get us back right now. My grasp of this time magic is nowhere good as Alexius’, and throwing the spell out there blindly would, in all likelihood, throw yet another wrench into this whole mess.”

Zarvora let out a long breath and nodded, reluctantly. She knew he was right. “So we’re stuck for now.”

“For now,” Dorian repeated. “And we have to do our best _not_ to interfere any more than we already have! We have to stay out of the Hero’s way while she unifies this part of Thedas against the Blight. We’re not in any of the tales, so we need to keep it that way.”

“Shouldn’t we just try to distance ourselves from her?” Zarvora asked. “Find somewhere quiet where you can work on the spell in peace?”

Dorian sighed. “I don’t think she’ll let us. The Hero is known for having collected any and all help that came her way. Like it or not, we now qualify as ‘help’. If we try to leave, it will make her suspicious, and we _can’t_ give away that we’re from the future!” He paused. “Alexius, you _fool_.”

Zarvora shook her head and sank down on one of the two beds in the room. “Dorian,” she said, “how did the Fifth Blight end?”

“The exact manner is a closely-held Grey Warden secret, from what I can gather,” Dorian said. “But as far as the general story - the Hero slew the Archdemon at the Battle of Denerim. Afterwards, King Alistair and Queen Anora were left with the unenviable task of trying to put the country back together. The Hero arranged the marriage, you know, and there were rumors that she and Alistair were lovers during this period.”

“What was Alistair’s claim to the throne?” Zarvora asked. “There must have been one, or else the Hero wouldn’t have felt the need to put him there. I remember that Anora was the previous king’s widow.”

“Cailan, yes, and Alistair is his half-brother,” Dorian said. “History agrees that it helped keep the country stable. Noble enough to satisfy the Bannorn, but also one of the two Wardens who helped stop the Blight. I gather Anora wasn’t too keen on the idea, but it let her keep the power she’d grown accustomed to.”

Zarvora tried to imagine what Shimari had gone through - would be going through? Technically, at that moment, it hadn’t happened yet - when she decided to arrange her lover’s marriage. She couldn’t imagine ever making that choice to let someone she loved go for what was arguably “the greater good”. Her parents were still very much in love with one another, which had been their primary reason for defecting from the Qun. 

“Of course, we’re not supposed to know any of that, because it hasn’t actually _happened_ ,” Dorian continued. “And Shimari Amell isn’t the Hero of Ferelden yet. She’s a Warden. And did you _know_ that your spymaster traveled with the Hero?”

“I did,” Zarvora said. “She told me that it was a vision from the Maker that prompted her to leave the Chantry and get involved. She didn’t say much about the details, though.”

“I suppose that’s for the best,” Dorian mused. “What we don’t know, we can’t affect.”

Zarvora sat in silence for a moment, and then grinned. “We met the Hero of Ferelden.”

“A shining example of a virtuous mage in the South,” Dorian said, returning the broad grin.

“And the King!” Zarvora continued. Despite her anxiety about being stuck in the past, she was starting to get excited. “Before he was King, that is.”

“We can say, oh, I remember when he was just a bumbling ex-Templar,” Dorian said with a laugh. “But it just adds to his charm.”

“Careful,” Zarvora said. “The Hero might not appreciate it if you tried to seduce him away from her.”

“The Warden,” Dorian corrected sternly. “If we must use a title for her instead of a _name_ , let it be one that won’t give anything away.”

“The Warden,” Zarvora agreed. “Maker. At this point … she’s like me, Dorian. She’s someone who’s getting caught up in events larger than herself. I wonder if she feels like I do? Like, why are all these people looking at me to make decisions? At least she was chosen to be a Warden.” She held up her left hand, and gasped. “Dorian! It’s not glowing!”

Dorian peered at the mark and stroked his chin in thought. “Well. The scar on your hand is still there… but the Fade energy isn’t. Probably for the best. We don’t want to have to explain why you have a glowing hand.”

“But … does that mean the Mark is gone?” Zarvora’s heart was thumping in her chest. She’d never asked for it, yes, but she was suddenly finding that she didn’t really want it gone. Who would close the Fade rifts, if she couldn’t?

“May I?” Dorian brought up his own hand, glowing a dark violet with his own magic. Zarvora nodded. The violet energy engulfed her hand. Sharp slices of magic pricked at her skin, in a sensation that bordered on uncomfortable.

“It’s… not gone,” Dorian said after a minute. “Well, it is, and it isn’t. What I felt was sort of … an echo. I think that if we can manage to get back to our own time, the Mark will still be there. But since the Breach hasn’t happened yet, and there aren’t active Fade Rifts everywhere, it makes sense that the Mark would be … let’s say dormant.”

Zarvora nodded. “That does make sense. Thank you, Dorian.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Dorian replied. “You’re being rather calm about the whole situation. It’s good to see that you have a sensible head on your shoulders.”

“Only because freaking out would be counterproductive,” Zarvora admitted with a laugh. “Besides, as you said-“

“The Hero of Ferelden,” Dorian said at the same time as she did. They traded grins. 

“Well, I think that’s about all the excitement I can handle for one day,” Dorian said. “Or perhaps for one year, though I doubt I will be getting that chance.”

Zarvora grimaced. “I’m not sure it’s wise to say things like that…”

“What, relating to time? You’re just being paranoid,” Dorian said with a laugh. Zarvora _thought_ it might have been forced, but regardless, she wasn’t going to pursue it. She, too, felt exhausted, and was only too happy to bid him a good night and fall into her bed.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, after breakfast, Shimari asked Dorian and Zarvora to come to her room. Alistair and a mage that Zarvora hadn’t seen before joined the small procession out of the dining hall. The mage was wearing a scandalously revealing outfit that looked as though it was glued into place. Dorian made a face at the outfit behind the mage’s back, and Zarvora had to work to keep from giggling.

“So,” Shimari said when the five of them had entered her room, “Dorian and Zarvora. Had you given any thought to what your next steps would be? I suppose I should first ask if you _had_ other steps planned.”

The mage, whose name Zarvora still didn’t know, was glaring at both of them suspiciously.

“We have none, right now,” Zarvora said. “I’m just relieved that Dorian and I were able to get away when we were.”

“Yes, ’twas quite fortunate,” the mage said. “Almost _too_ fortunate.”

“You see enemies everywhere, Morrigan,” Alistair scoffed. Zarvora could tell that Dorian recognized the name, although he controlled his reaction well. She hoped that none of the others had seen it.

“Would you consider joining us?” Shimari asked. “I was impressed by both of you, yesterday. And, well-“ she grimaced- “not everyone is listening to me - us - about the threat the Blight poses. The more fighters I have with me, the better.”

“We would be honored,” Zarvora said, not able to stop the grin that broke out over her face. They’d realized last night that it was likely to happen, but knowing it and actually _having_ the Hero of Ferelden praise their battle skills…

Both Morrigan and Alistair looked at her skeptically, and she did her best not to blush. 

“Good,” Shimari said with a nod. “We’ll be resting here one more day before heading out.” For the first time, the Hero of Ferelden - _the Warden_ , Zarvora corrected herself - looked like something other than a figure out of legend. She was grinning like a child who’d just received a present. “Dorian, would you mind terribly if I picked your brain? What you did yesterday - I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I am always happy to show off for a lovely lady,” Dorian said with a flourish of his hand. Alistair’s face darkened, which was a point in favor of the rumors about him and the Warden that Dorian had mentioned. 

“Excellent!” Shimari said. “Morrigan, would you-“

“I,” the mage said stiffly, “am not interested in such things. If you will excuse me.” She was out the door almost too fast for Zarvora to follow.

“Is she always like that?” Zarvora asked, looking between Alistair and Shimari.

“Yes,” Alistair said, chuckling softly. “A regular ball of sunshine, Morrigan is.”

“Her loss,” Dorian said lightly. “Well, ah, Warden-“

“Call me Shimari,” the dark-skinned mage said with a smile. “I still don’t feel like much of a Grey Warden.”

“Shimari,” Dorian said, smiling back at her. “Where would you like to start?”

Alistair was shooting another angry glance at Dorian, and Zarvora decided she needed to do something. “Could you show me around?” she asked him. “I heard you grew up here. I’ve never been to anywhere so grand.” It was, actually, at least somewhat true. This Redcliffe Castle felt far grander than the ones she’d visited in her present and the future. 

“Oh, sure,” Alistair said. They turned to leave, and after a few steps he spoke again. “Who told you that I grew up here?”

Zarvora felt herself flush. “Oh, uh, Leliana said something, yesterday,” she fibbed quickly.

“I, uh, didn’t realize that she knew,” Alistair said.

“Oh, well, erm, maybe the Warden - Shimari - told her,” Zarvora replied. Maker’s breath, she was bad at this!

“… Right,” Alistair replied, still skeptical. 

They walked along for another few moments before Alistair shot a suspicious glance at her again, and Zarvora decided to give him something else to think about. “You, uh, you don’t have anything to worry about from Dorian,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Alistair asked defensively.

 _Maker. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea._ “I just mean - he, oh, blast - he’d, uh, rather spend time with _you_ than Shimari. He said you were charming.”

“I -“ Alistair turned bright red, a color that Zarvora had always found fascinating in light-skinned humans. 

“I - I’m sorry I presumed,” Zarvora said quickly. “It’s really none of my business, but, um…” She trailed off, and then decided not to make things any more awkward. “Anyway! You know, I did see some of this yesterday, but there were demons involved, so, uh, I don’t feel like I really appreciated the sights.”

“Right, demons will ruin your day that way,” Alistair said, seeming grateful for the change of subject. “Well, you know, even though I was raised here, it was mostly in the stables and such. The mabari had more to do with me than the castle servants.”

“Uh huh,” Zarvora said. “You know, I was also raised by mabari.”

“Really!” Alistair said brightly. “Rrrrrr rrr. Rrrr rrr rrr?”

“Arf!” Zarvora replied, and they traded grins. 

At that moment, the sounds of a _real_ mabari’s bark echoed through the halls. “Uh oh,” Alistair said, groaning. He didn’t actually sound that upset, Zarvora thought, as a large brown mabari came tearing around the corner. The mabari started licking Alistair’s face with gleeful abandon. “Enough, Faithful!” Alistair managed to push the mabari away, and the large canine promptly turned to sniffing at Zarvora’s feet. 

“Faithful, huh?” Zarvora asked as she bent, extending a hand to let the mabari sniff her. “Sticks by the - by Shimari’s side, right?”

“Shimari says that Faithful and I are too alike, and that’s why he likes me,” Alistair said ruefully. Faithful finished his sniff and wagged his tail, giving Zarvora’s hand a lick.

“Going to join us for the tour?” Zarvora asked. Faithful woofed in agreement and fell in besides her as they started walking again. She chuckled. “Smart boy.”

“So, uh, where are you from?” Alistair asked. “I’ve never seen - well, besides Sten -“

It wasn’t too hard to figure out what he was getting at. Zarvora _thought_ it would be safe if she told him the truth. “I’m not really much like him. We’re from the same species and our parents were both born in the Qun, but that’s about it. I was raised outside of the Qun, in an environment probably not that different from humans or elves in small rural communities. There were other deserters from the Qun that set up in the same area. That was how they were able to get away. Safety in numbers and all that.” Zarvora shrugged. “I’m told that the first few years were tough. I missed out on most of it. By the time I was old enough to notice these things, the community was stable.”

“Is that where you learned how to fight?” Alistair asked.

“It’s where I learned the basics, but I eventually left home and joined a mercenary company,” Zarvora said. She paused. This was where she did have to make things up. “That’s where I met Dorian.”

“And the two of you have been best buddies ever since,” Alistair said. “You’re an unlikely pair.”

“You’re part of an unlikely group,” Zarvora countered, trading smiles with him. “Circle mage, apostate, ex-Templar, qunari, Orlesian … archer,” she finished lamely, not wanting to give away too much about Leliana.

“Shimari has that effect on people,” Alistair said. “At least you and Dorian didn’t try to kill us. I _still_ can’t believe she let that stupid elf stick around.”

“What stupid elf?” Zarvora asked, glad this time that she didn’t have to feign ignorance.

“Zevran. A Crow from An-tee-vah,” Alistair said, doing a bad job of imitating an Antivan accent. From her conversations with Josephine, Zarvora knew a little about the Crows.

“Oh, those are trouble,” Zarvora agreed readily. “Is there anyone else that I haven’t met?”

“Wynne, another Circle Mage. Picked her up when we rid the Circle Tower of demons and abominations,” Alistair said. “Wynne wants to be everyone’s grandmother, it seems like. Always poking her nose into people’s business. I - well. Never mind.”

Zarvora let the silence stand between them, reaching down to scratch behind Faithful’s ears. They could do this. Dorian would find a way to get them back to their own time. They could stay out of the Warden’s way, just let her handle things the way that she would have - already had? - and history wouldn’t even remember they had been with the Warden.

“Ahh!” Zarvora cried, grasping at her hand - the one with the Mark on it. To her horror, she saw part of the green glow begin to leak through the otherwise normal-looking scar.

“Are you all right?” Alistair asked, crouching to put an arm around her shoulder.

“I, I,” Zarvora thought quickly. “Must have been - poison. From yesterday.”

“Faithful, go get Wynne and Zevran,” Alistair said to the mabari. 

_There’s no way-_ Zarvora thought, and then saw the mabari trotting off purposefully. _Shit._ “Dorian,” she gasped out. “Please. Get Dorian.”

“Wynne’s a healer, and as much of a bastard as Zevran is, he does know something about poisons,” Alistair said soothingly. “They really are the best ones to help you.”

“Dorian,” Zarvora insisted through gritted teeth.

“Right, no, I can see why you’d want him,” Alistair said. “Okay, we’ll get you to somewhere that you can lie down, and then I’ll get your friend. It’ll be all right.”

 _No. It’s only going to make things worse._

Alistair quickly escorted Zarvora to the makeshift infirmary and then scampered off to grab Dorian. Alone, she took a minute to indulge in a moment of peace and quiet, closing her eyes. The pain from the Mark was more intense than it had ever been, even at the beginning. This was not a good sign. 

“… only a handful of poisons that have this delayed action,” a slick Antivan accent said. Zarvora opened her eyes again and saw a strikingly handsome elf come strolling in, followed by an elderly woman wearing her silver hair in a tight bun. “I should not need your assistance, unless the poison has advanced to the point where her life is in danger.”

“You are quite sure of your own abilities,” the woman said.

“I am alive, am I not?” the elf replied with a laugh. “Ah! And here is our patient. Zevran Ariani. I am delighted to meet such a beautiful woman. I have always wondered if what they say about qunari women is true.”

“In your dreams, Crow,” Zarvora muttered, turning her face away from Zevran. She had absolutely no idea what he was referring to, but didn’t care to find out.

The elf laughed. “Ah, it is just the pain talking. You will come around to me eventually. As will you, my beauteous Wynne.”

“I,” the mage said primly, “am old enough to be your grandmother. We also have a patient to tend to, so stop that outrageous flirting.”

Zarvora clenched her hand into a fist and held her arm tight against her chest. “Dorian will take care of it,” she said, her voice taught with pain.

“Really, dear, you should let us have a look at it,” Wynne insisted. “I am sure that your friend is skilled, but I am one of the best healers the Ferelden Circle has ever produced. There is no need for you to suffer unnecessarily.”

Zarvora closed her eyes tight and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to come up with some other stalling tactic that might have a chance of working.

“Zarvora? I’m here.”

She opened her eyes with a sigh of relief. “Dorian. Thank the Maker. It’s … the hand.”

Dorian was at her side in an instant, his magic flowing into her hand as it had the night before. “I can’t tell what caused it to flare up like this,” he murmured under his breath. “Is this what it’s always like around a Fade rift?”

Zarvora shook her head. “Worse,” she muttered.

“Andraste’s tits.” Dorian shook his head. “Zarvora, this is beyond me. We may have to let the healer mage look at it.”

“We can’t,” Zarvora said, but Dorian was already rising and beckoning Wynne over. Zarvora groaned and resolved to come up with suitable retaliation for later. Maybe she’d throw him into a rift when they got back.

The white-haired mage took the spot that Dorian had vacated, and Zarvora reluctantly uncurled her hand. Wynne gasped, running a hand over the glowing Mark. “Maker’s breath! That … what _is_ that?”

“Dorian, get the rest of them out,” Zarvora said, using her best ‘I am the Herald of Andraste and you will do as I command’ voice. The fewer people that saw the Mark, the better.

“Come, let’s leave the ladies alone,” Dorian said. He threw his arm around the tattooed elf and started maneuvering him away. “I’m sure you’re _much_ more pleasant company than Zarvora in a temper.”

“Hmm, perhaps you would like me to show you just how pleasant I can be?” Zevran replied. Zarvora resisted the urge to groan.

“That,” Wynne declared as the door closed, “is not poison. That is _magic_ , the likes of which I have never seen before.” She frowned. “No, that’s not right. I have seen something like this. Recently.” Wynne’s magic felt like an ice-cold stream running through Zarvora’s hand, giving her some relief from the pain. Zarvora allowed herself to relax a little, though she kept both of her eyes on Wynne.

“It’s the Fade,” Wynne said softly, her eyes widening. “It’s like you carry part of it inside you.” She passed a hand over the Mark, and did … something … that made Zarvora feel as though she had just closed a rift. Her hand still sung with Fade energies, but the pain had significantly lessened. Zarvora looked up at Wynne, and gasped at the sight of a ghostly woman hovering just behind Wynne. 

“What is it?” Wynne asked. “Do you see something?”

“You carry a piece of the Fade inside _you_ ,” Zarvora said quietly. “A … no. Not a demon. A spirit.”

“You can tell that?”

Zarvora nodded. “I feel the intent. I don’t think they could conceal it from me. Not… not while I have this.” She lifted her left hand and studied Wynne’s reaction closely. “You can’t tell the Warden about this. I think you’ll understand why when I’m done. I’m … not from this time. Ten years in the future, to be exact. Dorian and I … we were caught up in some sort of time magic, sent back here. We don’t know why. Dorian thinks he can get us back, but it wasn’t his spell, and he needs time to adapt it. I think. I’m no mage.”

“The future?” Wynne breathed. “That means … there _is_ a future. The Blight is stopped.”

Zarvora nodded. “But you can’t tell anyone about it,” she insisted. “Dorian and I don’t want to mess anything up. We don’t want to do the wrong thing and accidentally change the future… our present. We know we’re not supposed to be here, because the stories about the … Warden never mention us.”

“And this?” Wynne asked, running her hand over the glowing Mark.

“Honestly, I don’t know how I came by it,” Zarvora said. “There was … some sort of magic to do with the Fade. They say that I walked out of the Fade. I don’t remember any of it.” She took a deep breath. “It’s really, really complicated and they haven’t figured it out in my time, so don’t ask, because I honestly have no idea about any of this.”

“You walked out of the Fade?” Wynne asked, in the same tone that pretty much everyone at Haven used when they heard her story.

“I told you,” Zarvora said, a little defensively, “I don’t remember any of it.”

“Sounds like a fascinating story,” Wynne said, and returned to probing the Mark. The pain continued to recede, leaving her with a feeling of general warmth. “Well,” Wynne said after a long silence, “I think I can keep the pain from coming back. With time, perhaps I might be able to tell you more about the magic that created it.”

Zarvora let out a long sigh. “Maybe that means something good will come out of this.”

Wynne gave her a motherly smile. “I’ll come up with something to tell the others. I do agree that the part where you’re from the future should not be revealed. Nor should -“ she let go of Zarvora’s hand- “this bit of complicated magic.” 

“Thank you,” Zarvora said, nodding and offering the older woman a smile. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

“There are a thousand other questions I have,” Wynne said, half in protest. Her eyes were fixed on Zarvora’s hand, no longer glowing the brilliant Fade-green. 

“I think I’d like to rest now,” Zarvora said. She hadn’t been a person of importance for long, but Leliana and Josephine were working with her on the fine art of dismissing someone without appearing to dismiss them. Apparently, Wynne recognized the lessons, for she inclined her head in a gesture of respect before leaving.

Zarvora did take a few minutes to herself, half-expecting Dorian to be back as soon as he saw Wynne exit. But it was nearly a full hour before she heard anything outside her door - and it didn’t sound like a knock. It was more like a scratch. 

Zarvora opened the door to find Faithful there, mabari tongue lolling out of his mouth. He barked once, came into the room, and flopped down on his back in a clear invitation. She chuckled softly. “I guess Dorian is going to have to get in line,” she said. “If he ever does come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Is it too jarring to refer to the Inquisitor and Warden by their first names? This is the first time I've done that, partially because both of them are developed enough to feel like they have their own identities.


End file.
